


carbon

by amsves



Category: Teen Titans (Animated Series)
Genre: M/M, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 10:32:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15947552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amsves/pseuds/amsves
Summary: Robin's not as immune to Slade's ... interests as he pretends to be.





	carbon

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Idiomatic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/267470) by [kurage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurage/pseuds/kurage). 



> This work was inspired by the absolutely lovely "Idiomatic" by kurage. I highly recommend reading that one first--this one will make less sense without it. This is, essentially, what Robin was thinking while the rest of the Titans were having their discussion.
> 
> Title is from the [Dasu song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cf88EOY6Cp8) of the same name.

Robin waited until he’d left the rest of the Titans in the lounge, waited until he’d slunk into his room, waited until he’d closed and locked the door behind him to slump against the wall with a shaky exhale.

He let the exhaustion deep in his bones drag his body down until he was sitting on the floor, knees curled close to his chest, face buried in his hands. He exhaled again.

He knew Beast Boy and the rest of the Titans thought they were being sneaky, waiting until their leader was far away to start their slander, but he was acutely aware of their conversation. All their little jibes wormed their way through his ears into his head and he grit his teeth in frustration. 

Did they think this was a goddamn  _ joke _ ? 

Did they seriously think that this was a laughing matter?

They didn’t understand-- _ couldn’t _ understand. How the uniform he’d worn during his brief stint as that man’s apprentice had practically burned his skin, how the metal plating felt like a wearable cage. How he could still hear Slade’s contemptuous purr, feel Slade’s mockingly gentle touch as a gloved hand trailed down the side of his face or hooked under his collar while the other was splayed out against his lower back. 

He felt like he had been  _ branded _ .

And they were making jokes about cats and zippers.

Robin took a deep breath. He was getting all worked up over nothing. They were just trying to make light of a serious situation, and he had no reason to be mad. He should get back to work.

But still… 

Robin could still feel Slade’s eyes on him.

Could still hear him murmur his praises and criticisms in his signature baritone.

That wasn’t something he could make light of.

Anger surged back up in Robin’s stomach. The take-deep-breaths, try-to-stay-calm, don’t-think-about-him, don’t-think-about-anything strategy hadn’t worked before, and its chances weren’t looking good for right now, either. He pounded his fist on the floor. Damn it, he had a right to be angry! Slade had won again, had evaded their grasp with nothing more than a few ruined robots and some frustrated wannabe-heroes to show for it. How could they call themselves the protectors of Jump City if they kept letting him get away with anything he wanted?

Robin supposed, begrudgingly, that they were lucky Slade had such a fixation on him instead of an innocent citizen. If a civilian had gotten swept up in Slade’s madness, Robin honestly didn’t think he would be able to forgive himself. 

But thinking about Slade’s  _ fixation _ sent Robin back into a tailspin. He wasn’t  _ blind _ \--he saw how Slade was toying with him, knew exactly what those gazes that lingered just a  _ little _ too long and touches that rested just  _ slightly _ too low meant. He knew that Slade was a criminal who cared little for good and evil and even less for the law, knew that if his apprenticeship had lasted a bit longer he might have been forced to confront Slade’s true desires, but--

But--

A part of him was still in denial, that any one person could be so depraved.

Robin had no idea how old Slade was (he didn’t know anything about Slade, and the other man knew so, so much about Robin that it made his heart clench) but he could hazard a guess that the man was at  _ least  _ twice Robin’s own age. Not that there would have been anything terribly wrong with that, if Robin wasn’t also a  _ minor _ . 

This line of thinking made Robin’s gut twist painfully, and he tried to think of something else. Anything else. Dimly, he was aware of Starfire making some threat to Slade, but his mind was currently leading him down a much more unsavory path, replaying every instance in which Slade’s conduct might less accurately be described as a villain engaging with his nemesis and more accurately be called a predator playing with its food. Every moment when he leaned in just slightly too close, when his comments were just slightly off-topic, when his single eye rested anywhere other than Robin’s own. 

Robin thought he was going to be sick.

He could feel the bile rising in the back of his throat before he pushed it down painfully, biting his tongue to distract himself.  _ This  _ was why he didn’t allow himself to think about it, why he only ever felt anger towards the villain clad in garish orange, because underneath his burning rage lurked the nausea and shame that came with knowing that Slade was thinking about every way (and every position) in which he could force Robin into submission. 

He clenched his fists so tightly he could feel his fingernails digging into his palms through the gloves.  _ Fuck  _ Slade, honestly. 

Oh, that was a bad choice of words. 

That was a whole other rabbit hole that Robin had been precariously skirting. He instinctively closed his eyes, but that only made the images brighter, clearer. He clamped his hands over his ears, but the sounds were inside his head.  _ Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think _ \--

He absolutely did not need to see this.

He was sure he would end up experiencing it soon enough, was sure his imagination would conjure up the most vivid, detailed nightmares in order to ensure he never got a good night’s sleep again. His only hope was that he would get so used to that stuff (himself pinned underneath Slade, screaming in pain or pleasure or maybe a sick blend of both) that it would cease to bother him. And then, maybe, he would be allowed to sleep through the night. 

Until then, however, he would seethe, and fight, and use the nighttime hours to plan strategy after strategy to take that man down. 

He wouldn’t be able to rest until he knew that there was no way Slade could hurt him--or anyone else--ever again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](http://www.skeletoncloset.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
